


cuts a straight line down through the heart

by LearnedFoot



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Force Ghost Ben Solo, Force Ghost Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23721826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: She’s half-asleep when she senses his presence for the first time in over a year.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33
Collections: What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside), When Death Loves Flamingos





	cuts a straight line down through the heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [intoxicatelou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoxicatelou/gifts).



> My first time writing Reylo! This is mostly "Sex with the ghost of dead lover" plus a bit of "The Force Ships It" if you squint right. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Title from ["The Origin of Love,"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_zU3U7E1Odc) from _Hedwig And The Angry Inch_.

Rey spent too many years alone to consider herself lonely now. She has Finn and Poe and the spirits of those who came before, not to mention a whole galaxy to restore. No, what she feels is not loneliness, but something more akin to absence, a part of her mind gone quiet.

It should be a relief. Sometimes, it is: a taut string cut loose, tension smoothing from her shoulders. Ben’s turmoil had been a roiling sea stretching across the stars, buffeting her heart like waves from a foreign land even when she tried to shut him out. She rests easier now that she doesn’t have to live with his confusion.

And yet—she misses it, misses him. She had let herself become used to the constant tug of another person, the thrilling spark of livewire connecting them. His presence was comfort even when she couldn’t trust him; his loss just as he’d become the man she always knew he could be is almost unbearable when she allows herself to think about it for too long.

Emptiness. That’s the word for it. Her life is full, of friends, of purpose, but a small corner of her essence remains empty; he took a chunk with him when he went.

***

She’s half-asleep, alone, on a ship on the edge of a war-torn planet, waiting for her friends to return from a diplomatic mission, when she senses his presence for the first time in over a year.

It starts with the tang of metal on the back of her tongue. A Force ghost, then; they always taste like that. She’s on the verge of whining at Luke or Leia to go away, please. Come back in the morning, she’s trying to sleep. But then her breath catches and she realizes: the space been her ribs that has stood hollow since Ben slipped out of her arms is suddenly full.

 _Finally_.

“Ben,” she says, squeezing her eyes tighter. Nobody else could make her body expand beyond itself, becoming one with not just the Force but another. She’s sure—but not so sure that she doesn’t fear blinking into the dark and finding it’s a dream. “Took you long enough.”

“I’m sorry.”

His voice. It is— _his_ voice, ringing through her ears, her heart.

“You should be.”

She sits up, gripping the edge of her bunk. The metal digs into her palms, as close to proof as she can get that this is real. She allows herself to open her eyes, and—yes. There he is, still wrapped in black, but with robes styled like a Jedi. He’s radiant, and not just from the glow that bounces off his skin. He smiles like he did in his last moments, as if the sight of her makes his world right. Maybe it does. Can ghosts feel empty? Had he felt her absence as acutely as she his?

“Yes,” he answers, and she feels the word across her mind as much as she hears it, a ripple of awareness that has been missing for too long. “All I’ve felt was your absence.”

Her lips twitch, threatening to turn into a smile to match his. She should be angry. She _wants_ to be angry. He always takes too long. First, far too long to finally step into the light; now, too long to return to her. How dare he leave, and how dare he come back, leaping into her mind without so much as a hello? It isn’t fair. She should be _furious_.

She’s not, though. She’s elated. And when he steps forward, extending his hand—bare, she notices, pale skin blue in the dark—she only hesitates for a moment before taking it. She feels him like electricity along her skin; like something warm and solid her body knows from memory. If she presses too hard she could go right through him, and yet the place where their fingers touch is more real than the rest of the room.

“Where have you been?” she asks.

“It’s hard to explain.”

She can feel the truth of the answer as he says it: a road extending past the horizon, over an edge she’s not allowed to see beyond. Not yet. Mystical mysteries for another day. For now, she’s more interested in why she can feel him when every other Force ghost has been nothing but ephemera.

She raises their hands, interlocking their fingers. Every part of him is distinct, clearly defined. Soft, even, despite the constant hum wherever their skin meets.

“How is this happening?” Does it expire? Will he disappear again, exhausted, fading into the dark for another year? She doesn’t need to add those questions: he’ll know as clearly as if she spoke them out loud.

“I don’t know,” he replies, an answer to all the questions at once. It clearly pains him to admit. “This is new to me, too.”

He looks at where their palms press together and pushes. She feels it as his skin starts to sink into hers: a slight blurring of the edges between her being and his.

“Strange,” she says, because there’s no other word for it. Not in a bad way. It’s nice—natural even. But still, unquestionably strange. She’s heard lovemaking described as two people becoming one, but this is taking the metaphor a bit literally.

He pulls her towards him. She can tell she could resist his strength more easily than when he was alive, if she wanted, but that’s the last thing she wants. She lets him fold her into his arms, close against his chest. He’s nothing but the Force made corporeal, and yet as solid as a tree if she doesn’t push.

“Lovemaking, huh?” he whispers, and it’s almost as if she can feel breath against her ear.

“You’re impossible.” It’s not a real protest, and when she tilts her head up, his lips are there to meet hers. As soon as they kiss it’s like a dam broke, every fiber of their severed connection re-weaving at once.

More. She needs more.

She says it out loud: “More.” Shouts it into his mind, hears it echoed back in his voice: _more_. She wraps her arms around his neck, twines her fingers in the strands of his hair, pulls. He moans against her mouth and she feels the pleasure of it—his and hers at once, _theirs—_ settling below her stomach, leaving her wet.

 _More_ they both shout in silence, and stumble together to her bunk.

_***_

The small cot is barely big enough for her, but they make do. It’s hard to care about the hard edge of the metal frame digging into her back when she has Ben above her, gazing at her with reverence as she pulls away her shirt, revealing nothing underneath but skin—the convenience of catching her at night. She wonders if he planned his arrival time on purpose, for that reason.

He laughs, fingers landing lightly on her nipples. The shock of it radiates through her, each touch revelation and arousal in one. “I didn’t think of that.”

“But you did want me alone,” she guesses out loud, sitting up to get at his robes. A yank on his belt is all it takes for them to fall away, pooling around his waist, leaving his chest as bare as hers. She spreads her palm across it, and thinks she can feel a heartbeat that shouldn’t be there. Maybe it’s her own.

His hand mirrors hers, resting above her heart. “Is there a difference between mine and yours?”

She trails her hand downward, brushing the rough cotton of his pants. His cock is as hard as she is wet, and when she squeezes it she feels it in her core, muscles clenching. “Maybe not.”

And then his lips are on hers again and together they scream: _more_.

***

When he enters her, it’s as if the edges of reality have slipped away; all she knows is his skin on hers, his flesh in hers. Their heat and heart and breath rise and fall together as they move, pleasure washing over them like waves coming home.

***

After, they rest, entwined tight in the small bed. She’s the only one panting, but she’s loud enough for the both of them.

“You’re still here,” she notices.

“I am.”

“Does that mean you’re going to stay?”

His fingers dance along her shoulder, tapping thoughtfully. “I don’t know. How do you think your friend Finn would react to seeing me?”

“Would he? Be able to see you, I mean?” Finn has been training under her, an apprentice to someone who has no idea what she’s doing. He sometimes catches the edges of Luke’s voice, but nothing more. But then—Ben is different.

“I don’t know.” He still sounds like he hates admitting that. It makes her smile. He can hate it all he wants; at least he acknowledges his limits.

“You don’t know much, do you?” She softens the blow with a kiss to the underside of his chin. “Stay,” she decides. No, not a decision. A declaration: stay, of course. There is no other possible choice. 

As she kisses up his chin to his face, every fiber continues to sing: _more_.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is loved <3
> 
> Also, I went completely insane with this exchange and wrote about 20k in a week. Please, _please_ point out the inevitable typos that made it through. I promise I will be grateful, not annoyed.


End file.
